Snapshots Through Time
by superwoman1015
Summary: Snapshots of Cho's life, from the army to the CBI and points in between. Warnings for talks of mental illness (PTSD)
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: **Written for the 2014 Mentalist Big Bang on LJ.

**Snapshots Through Time**

**Time**

Cho didn't know where he was, nor how much time had passed. He'd heard horror stories from other soldiers, ones who had been on more than one tour. If you got lost in the desert, you never came back. He'd managed to avoid being target practice for the enemy snipers, but that was of little comfort. He didn'tknow how long he was going to survive.

**Sun**

The sun was hot. It burned his skin like nothing he had ever experienced. He allowed himself to think of his life back home, if only for a brief moment. When he was a young boy, maybe nine or ten, his mother had taken him to the community pool. It was outdoors and he had never been swimming before. He didn't know that such a thing as sunscreen was needed, nor had he even known that it was possible to get a sunburn. The reflection of the sun off the water magnified the harmful effects and he had ended up looking like the cooked crabs that his grandmother served for dinner on special occasions. Today, under the sun and fearing for his life, he thought of that. He'd not had a burn since that day, and now he was going to get another one. Not that it mattered.

**Moon**

The night brought little relief. The wind whipped through the hills, blowing sand in his face. The night was cooler, but without shelter he was just as vulnerable to the cold as he had been to the heat. He looked up at the moon, wondering if there was anyone looking for him. He doubted it. He would be presumed dead. And soon enough that would be true. He thought back to his mother, his grandmother, his family. He had chosen this life to get off the streets, to improve his chance of living. And here he was, in the process of dying.

**Life**

He thought he was hallucinating. Trees in the desert. But no, he was not. Their shade provided much needed respite from the elements. And where there was trees there was water, even if it was muddy and thick. It provided him with enough to live. He saved the water in his canteen for he would need that later. He knew that this wasn't a safe place to stay; water in the dessert was likely to attack unsavory characters, both of the animal and human variety. He wasn't sure if he was in hostileor friendly land, though often there was little difference between the two. So he drank what he could, filtered with what he had in his pack, and moved on. He couldn't stop.

**Death**

He came upon the buildings just as the sun was setting and he thought that he would again be dodging bullets and grenades. but these buildings were abandoned. Half covered in sand and missing their roofs. He still didn't know where he was. He wasn't aware of any settlements in this area. Maybe he had wandered too far in the wrong direction. His compass said that he was heading in the right direction, but there had been no note of an oasis or a settlement, even an old one, in the area he thought he was in. His radio was useless. No battery. No chance of sending a signal. Chances were that the enemy would find him first. He once again faced the prospect of his own death. And it looked very sure indeed.

**Birth**

He remembered attending the Christian church down the street from his apartment every Sunday with his grandmother. He didn't want to think of her while he was hiding out in these abandoned buildings, it was too painful, but he couldn't help it. There was one Sunday when the preacher talked about baptism and the need to be reborn. This seemed silly to him, but he had gone to the neighborhood pool and was dunked with the rest of the kids. His grandmother was happy about this. She wanted what was best for him. Now, sitting in the sand, he wished that he had paid a bit more attention in church. He could use a little saving.

**Midnight**

He heard the helicopter first. He ducked behind a wall even though he had the cover of darkness, still hiding in the runes that he had found. His water was running low and he was out of emergency rations. Things were even more desperate than they had been when he had escaped the gunfight all those days ago. When it passed overhead, he was shocked to see that it was American. He dashed from the alcove he'd been crouching in and tried to get their attention. He thought they were gone and he lost when they turned around and dropped a ladder. Of all the things he thought would happen in this godforsaken land, rescue was not one of them. He thought back to the church and said a little prayer, as he was speed off in the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Rain**

Germany was very much different from the desert. How had he gotten here he was not sure. He remembered being picked up by the helicopter, he remembered giving a brief account of the gun battle, of the location of the encampment that had ambushed them, and then nothing. He felt weak, weaker than he had even under the full noon sun just days ago. He could see from his hospital bed the cold dark sky, the rain falling in sheets. His skin burned and itched. He still felt as though he was covered in sand.

**Snow**

Growing up he thought that show was a mystical thing. Rarely seeing it, he always get excited at the prospect. He was still in Germany, though he should have been sent home ages ago. He had somehow rated a transfer and a promotion to a desk and weekly visits with a therapist. He had taken to wondering the streets at night after work. The team he was on was in charge of shuffling paper work around the world. He didn't drive, there was no need, he walked everywhere. Tonight had been cloudy, the sounds of the city muffled under a heavy blanket of clouds. He had his heavy coat on, a recent purchase due to the progressively cold weather. His army issued coat was warm in its oven way, but not enough for someone not used to the chill. He stood on an old bridge and watched the snow start to fall in the streetlights. It was beautiful. He shivered; the billowing snow reminded him of smoke.

**Wind**

He was headed home, it seemed as though it had been decades since he had been on American soil. He was going to miss Europe. He had gotten used to the people, the languages, and the food. Everyone was so pleasant, so full of life. Not like his neighborhood back home. He knew that there were places in the city he had come to call home that were dark and depressing, but he never saw them. He went out of his way to avoid them. He wanted his time in the city to be special and magical. The transport plane hit a particularly bad patch of turbulence and he felt his stomach lurch. He felt as though he were being tossed in the wind, lost and homeless.


	3. Chapter 3

**Rage**

The punching bag in front of him shuddered and bounced on its chain. He had been home for a month. Shore leave that would never end. He had thought he would always be in the army. He never thought he would have to leave. He had loved Europe. He had healed his body and mind while there, had it been up to him he would never leave. Now he was floundering. He hated that he had reverted to anger now that he was leaving the army. He needed to find something to do that would keep him busy and out of trouble. He closed his eyes as the blood pounded in his ears, saw a helicopter beating towards him, and snapped his eyes open. The desert would never leave him.

**Fire**

The smoke filled his nose and lungs and he struggled not to choke. He could feel his heart beating and in his mind, he saw bombs going off and ruble flying everywhere. He shook his head to clear it and blinked. Maybe he wasn't as healed as he thought. His mind returned to the present and he coughed slightly. He had taken a job as a line cook, the first job he'd come across. It wasn't what he wanted to do. His mind wasn't engaged; it wandered and dwelled on things he thought he had worked through ages ago. He needed something else.

**Health**

Even though he was no longer in the Army, he still had the insurance that enabled him to get the help that he needed. He thought he was over the worst of it. He though he had left the desert far behind, but it didn't seem that was now. He picked a therapist far from his neighborhood, he wanted help, but didn't want punishment at home. He hoped that this time he could rid himself of the dreams and nightmares.

**Infection**

His mind was sick. He didn't know if he would be able to keep going. Last night there had been a shooting on his street. He'd woken in a sweat, sand flying through his mind and sun shining in his eyes. He'd almost pulled his gun and started firing. He needed to get out. He packed a bag and drove. Just drove until he couldn't drive anymore. He ended up in the desert. The landscape was different, but it was the same. The wind was blowing; the sun was beating down on him. He was sweating and trembling. He fell against the side of his car, shaking. He needed to get over this; it was no way to live. He left his can and walked into the desert.

**Reward**

It had been six months since he'd walked into the desert. He'd survived and come back from it. He hadn't had any more nightmares. He hadn't had anymore waking dreams. He no longer woke with a start and the need to grab his gun. And he was in school. He had a goal in life. He was going to be a cop. He was going to leave this neighborhood behind once and for all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Tender**

He cradled the infant in his arms protecting her from the cold and darkness. His first night on the beat and he was first on the scene of a three car pileup that had tangled traffic in all directions on the busiest roads in town. He should have been directing traffic; instead, he was caught up in the drama unfolding in one of the cars stopped in the mess of traffic. A new mom in labor and a first time dad anxious to get to the hospital. He had more medical training than the other cops on scene, and so while the EMT's were bust attending to the accident victims he had helped a new life into the world. He handed the small bundle to the mother who was still laying against her husband in the back seat of their car. They all looked so happy, content. And Cho knew what his next goal would be. He wanted love and a family.

**Anger**

He felt rage bubbling up in him. The man sitting across from him was laughing at him. They knew he was guilty of selling drugs to kids still in middle school. But he was so arrogant, so sure that he was going to get up and walk out of the interrogation room. And Cho couldn't stand it. He hadn't felt this way since his Army days. He felt sick inside, as though his soul had been poisoned. He was faced again with the truth that he needed more help than he could get on his own. He looked at the woman sitting next to him; she was a new detective, as was he. She had been a force in the field and was still calm. He felt his anger dissipating; she could be an example until he could do it on his own.

**Seeds**

The "retreat" had been her idea, and he had readily agreed. She was the better detective, the leader in their partnership. She was always in control and he envied that. The campground where they had pitched their tents was remote. The forest surrounding him was quiet and peaceful. Their first night they build a fire and cooked meals in tin foil that she sheepishly admitted she'd learned to do as a girl scout. Afterwards, in the dark they shared about their pasts. She told him of her mother, a life cut short by a drunk driver and a father who couldn't cope. And he told her of his life in the gang, in the Army. And he shared his anger and his fears. "Embrace it" was her advice. He thought about it that night, in the dark with only the crickets and coyotes keeping him company in his thoughts. Embrace the pain, the darkness, the fear. Instead of running from it, hiding it. He had tried everything else; it was worth a shot.

**Ghost**

He was running down an ally, being chased by someone or something that he couldn't see. Shadows were jumping out at him, there was blood and sand and the beating drum of his heart and a helicopter. He tripped and fell, landing in a puddle of unsure origin and found himself unable to get up again. _What do you want!_ He screamed with no sound, yet he still felt the words echo in the air. But there was no answer. Just an empty howling sound. _Leave me in peace!_ Too many emotions, too much pain and anger stuffed inside and buried. Too much time spent ignoring them. This is how he had ended up wandering the California desert. He couldn't pretend that these emotions didn't exist. He opened his eyes wide, staring at the shadows. His mother, dead longer than he'd like to think, his ancestors, friends who died in battle, both at home and abroad. He was angry at them. Angry at himself for not being able to protect him. He saw the face of the man selling drugs to kids, arrogant and self-righteous. Rage bubbled up. Instead of hiding it, instead of letting it fester until it boiled over he let it in, just like Teresa had said. And something happened. It went away. He saw his dead friends as ghosts that he couldn't save, people who knew the risks and made choices anyway. He saw the drug dealer as just that. A drug dealer. And the sand disappeared, and the humping of the helicopter faded. And all that was left was his mother, smiling at him and calling him baby and telling him that she would always be proud of him.

**Blood**

The smell of gun smoke filled his nostrils. This wasn't how he thought it would end. They were on the trail of a serial killer. Teresa, his dear friend, had left on to bigger and better. It was for the best, she'd gotten a bit too close to one of the other detectives, one who was married. Now he was alone in the field. Sure, there were others here with him, but no one that got him like she did. Now because of the stupid mistake of a young rookie they were forced into a gun battle that no one could win. He looked for an opening and took a shot; the scream told him that he had hit someone. He hoped it was the "bad guy" but he wasn't sure. The rookie next to him had blood pouring out of a hole in his arm. This was going to be a bad day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Paper**

The letter was a surprise.

_Dear Cho,_

_I can't even write Kimball, it just doesn't seem to fit you. I've missed having you working beside me every day. The CBI is great. The cases I work have me traveling all over the state. I've been put in charge of creating an exclusive team of experts to tackle some of the state most gruesome and horrific crimes. Not just ones committed on State land, but also those for which the local authorities don't have the resources to handle. We are to be an alternative to the FBI. Keeping it all in the family as it were. I need a go-to guy. Someone who can think on his feet and not have to be told what to do every second of every day. Someone stoic and in control. Know anyone who fits that description? If you can stomach working with me as a boss I'd love to have you. _

_Teresa_

His response was not the one he thought he would have. But when the last box was in the moving truck and he looked around one last time at his old home he knew that he'd made the right choice.

**Ice**

This was the first time he'd seen snow since his time in Europe. Sadly, this was not nearly as fun. They had a murder in a small mountain town just outside one of the numerous California State Parks. The local sheriff, a good 'ol boy if there ever was one, had called them in desperate. The most frequent crime they got was poaching and the occasional pot farm. Nothing like a grisly murder had happen here since gold rush times. And though it was still a month before Thanksgiving, there was still snow and ice on the ground. An early storm the cocky deputy had told them about when they had arrived the day before. The case was actually pretty open and shut, the murderer was the victims' estranged husband, someone that the sheriff and the rest of the town had always viewed as a kind, sweet soul. Had their team not come, Cho knew that the murder would have gone unsolved. The road back down the mountain was traitorous. Black ice and blowing snow made it slow going. Steve snored loudly and made the trip home even longer, but being able to talk to Teresa like old times made it worth it.

**Day**

There was a new man on the team, an arson specialist from California. Handpicked by Teresa when they had been on a case near San Diego and she'd seen his work. Cho knew that they would become friends, not best buddies, but at least a guy he could go get a beer with after a long day at work. He was still a little green around the edges, but he had an eye for details and a quick wit that he knew Teresa liked. They'd been spending more time together, and he didn't complain. He liked spending time together. Even if sometimes it was with Steve and the new guy Rigsby, it was worth it.

**Night**

He wasn't sure how he and Teresa had been granted the pleasure of being the ones left in town at the end of the case, but they were. It had been easy, open and shut, but involved a personal friend of the Lieutenant Governor, so their team had been sent in. The "murdered" woman had actually committed suicide, the only crime was her husbands' trying to cover it up for the sake of his children and they couldn't fault him for that. The suicide had taken place at the family's cabin in the red woods and the small town nearby could have been on a post card. The stars were bright and the sky was cloudless. Cho sat next to Teresa on a large rock in the town square with a warm blanket and hot cocoa. The town had long since shut down, but they were still there, enjoying each other's company and, at least on his part, thinking about what could be.

**Star**

He saw a shooting star zip across the sky and nudged the petite woman who was still lying next to him on the rock. He glanced at her when she didn't respond and noticed that she was asleep. Taking the opportunity for himself, he indulged in a bit of silly superstition and made a wish on the star before it burned out of sight. He wished that they would always be close, that they would always be friends, and that, maybe, one day, they could be more.


	6. Chapter 6

**Red**

This was not a crime scene like one he'd seen before. Nor like one he hoped to ever see again. There was blood everywhere. It would have reminded him of his time overseas save for the one glaring feature that was staring everyone in the face as they entered the room. A smile, painted in the victim's blood, where it was impossible to miss. This was not the first crime scene like this that had cropped up around California, and that is why they were there. They were going to take on the case. Dubbed "Red John" by one of the local cops on the case early on, the serial killer seemed to lack any sort of motive or MO, aside from choosing women as his victims. Cho closed his eyes for a brief moment to gather his thoughts; this was going to take all the strength he had. They would find this monster, with any luck before he killed again.

**Green**

He loved the springtime. The rebirth after the death of winter always brought hope and good fortune to those looking for it. He had become stoic at work, rarely sharing his emotions. This is how he kept the anger at bay. He had embraced it as Teresa had suggested, and he had come to recognize it for what it was. A fierce protective instinct. It was what made him a good cop and a good friend. And the anger was less pronounced. It was still there, but it wasn't the main thing.

**Blue**

There had been another out of town case. One that required the team to spend the night in a town so small it didn't show up on their GPS. Much like before he and Teresa ended up alone one night staring at the stars. They talked of the case, a single woman killed by a man she had spurned in love. That's what it always came down to. Love. Conversation turned to their love lives or lack there or. Cho said that he dreamed of finding love, of finding someone who would take him with all of his scars. Teresa said that she hoped for the same, but that she was losing faith in humanity. All the pain, all the suffering, all the death and destruction. It was almost too much. He saw for the first time the pain she kept inside. He felt guilty for not recognizing it before. He reached out to her, cradling her in his arms, soothing her tears and fears. They stayed together that night, clinging to each other for strength.

**Hot**

Summer and the desert. They always went together. Less of an issue now than before. The desert always called to him. And fire. He was glad he was not the arson expert. He stood aside while Rigsby paced and paused and tested. He indicated the areas that he wanted samples taken from for testing. They almost hadn't come to this town. The local authorities had initially thought that they fires that had been starting in abandoned cabins in the brush were accidents. It had been exceptionally hot and dry and the cabins tended to have poorly maintained propane tanks. But then they found the body. The case would be solved soon, it always was. And they would be gone from this dusty baron wasteland. Their last night in town there was a knock at Cho's hotel room door, and on the other side a vision in shorts and a t-shirt. The town had a midsummer festival with loud music and dancing. He'd never had more fun than that night. Hot and sweaty under the desert moon, with a beautiful woman in his arms.

**Cold**

He'd never been ice-skating before. Not once. He' never seen the point of sliding around on ice with razors strapped to his feet. But here he was, trying to walk across the slick ice to a body with one of those razor sharp blades sticking out of his chest. Cho had only managed to make it ten feet, but at least he hadn't fallen down. He paused in his awkward shuffle to watch the one member of the CBI team who had reached the body. She had put on a pair of skates and was carefully gliding around the body taking to the uniform op who was watching over the body. She was a natural. He wanted to see her on the ice without a body on it. He knew it would be angelic.

**Childhood**

Cases with kids were always hard, but this one seemed to effect the team a bit more. Cho sat in his hotel room worrying about Teresa. She had seemed especially hard hit by this case, an alcoholic father with a temper he took out on his kids. Cho wasn't even sure why they had been called out for this case. It had been pretty open and shut. A conflict of interest was the best guess. The sheriff was the brother of the killer. Cho thought back to their last night in the desert when Teresa came to him, had kept him busy to keep him out of his own head. She needed that from him now. He knocked on her door and found her barely holding on to what little control she had. He sat with her and listened to her tell of her father and mother and brothers. And like she had so many times for him, he saved her from herself.


	7. Chapter 7

**Authors Note: **Wow, I'm so sorry to those of you who read this that I got so far behind in posting the chapters. There is one more after this what I will get posted tomorrow.

**Fear**

He hadn't been there when the shots were fired. He hadn't been there when she needed him the most. He knew there was a chance that there would be a gunfight and he still let her go with only that idiot Hannigan to back her up. And now they were at the hospital, him in the waiting room, Teresa in the operating room. And he was afraid. Not in the way he had been in the desert, he was not afraid for himself, but for her. And he knew that fear would stay with him until the doctor came and told him it was over.

**World**

He told her about Europe. About walking along the river in the snow and the old buildings mixed in with the new. He told her about the Middle East, not just the desert, but the markets and the animals and the people who were good and just wanted their countries back. He told her this while she had a breathing tube down her throat and wires strapped to her chest. And the fear was still there.

**Stormy**

The sun was too bright and the colors in the world around him were too sharp. The grass was just a bit too green. The white of the tombstones around him gleamed as though they were made of marble. Her grave was before him, coffin posed above a gaping hole in the earth. This was wrong. She couldn't be dead. He looked around at her brothers and coworkers, heads bowed in respect. This was wrong. She couldn't be dead. He couldn't go on if she was dead. It should have been him in that coffin, not her. He tried to run, tried to move closer, tried to push off the gaudy bouquet on the lid but he was rooted to the spot, unable to move. His breath was sticking in his throat, he wanted to scream but no sound came. Just when he thought that he would be stuck in this too bright world he jerked awake. She was still alive. Hooked up to machines making sure that she could breath, that her heart could beat. He reached out and touched her hand where it lay on top of the sheet. Warm, and comforting. She was going to live. She had to.

**Beach**

When she woke, he wasn't there. The nurse had sent him home to get "real" sleep. Though all he had done was shower and toss and turn thinking of her. When the call came from the hospital his heart stopped, but he couldn't stop smiling when the nurse told him the good news. She was released and given therapy and bed rest and instructions to take a vacation to let her body heal. And she took him with her. The one person she could trust with her secrets. The one person who wouldn't ask for more than she could give. They spent a week on the beach. She was afraid to wear a swimsuit but he told her she was beautiful no matter what and that her scars were just a testament to how strong she was. And for a week, they pretended that the world didn't exist.


End file.
